The Heart of a Giant
by Lib Feathers
Summary: A tribute to Grom Hellscream.  Nine short chapters.  Blizzard Entertainment owns World of Warcraft, Grom Hellscream, and all that other good stuff.
1. Chapter 1

The Heart of a Giant

1

"What do you mean he named Thrall warchief?"

The two moons of Azeroth shone at their full glory across the Arathi Highlands, illuminating a small female orc as she strode around a tall, thin male. Both had green skin and black hair, though her eyes were golden-brown while his burned a demonic red. The female halted abruptly in front of the male.

"How can you tease me like that, Grom, when Doomhammer lies dead?"

"I am not teasing, Sync. Just before he died, Doomhammer named Thrall the new warchief," Grom said quietly.

Sync paced another circle around Grom. "Thrall is hardly more than a boy. Doomhammer should have named you warchief."

Grom shook his head. Even with the fire glowing in his red eyes, he looked tired. "No. Thrall is strong and he shows a good amount of wisdom. He will be a good leader. And I have no desire to be warchief. I would rather be responsible only to myself."

Sync spat into the thick grass. "What's happened to you, Grom? Have you lost your spirit?"

"Maybe I have. I'm old. I'm tired. I've seen too many defeats. But Thrall has enough spirit for us all. He cares about the orcs. This is all new to him, and it excites him. I can feel it when he talks. I can see it when he fights. Do you not see it, too?"

Sync looked off toward the valley where the orcs had gathered after their recent battle. Adults and children milled everywhere, almost falling over each other, but she had no trouble recognizing Thrall even in the moonlit shadows. He stood taller than any of the other orcs. Two younger males, once Doomhammer's aides, were helping him adjust the warchief's black plate armor to fit his own body. Thrall was more muscular than the previous warchief, and the armor did not set easily on him. "He will not properly be of age till he goes through om'riggor."

"You still have om'riggor?"

"Yes, we do. It's not the proper ceremony we had on Draenor, but it works."

"We could hold a quick ceremony tonight." Grom reached down to put his hand on her shoulder.

She slapped Grom's hand away. "He would still be a child. And I see no reason to risk everything we've got on a child's dreams."

"It is my dream, too. And Doomhammer's. To free the captive orcs, to unite the Horde again, to find a home where we can regain our lives. And our sanity."

"We've lost so much already," Sync said, her voice almost breaking. "What if it doesn't work?"

Grom reached for her shoulder again, and this time she did not push him away. "It will, Sync. It will. It has to."


	2. Chapter 2

2

Moving slower than usual, Bryla pushed herself up from the bed and stretched carefully. Her brown eyes rested on her newborn daughter, sleeping in a basket far too large for her. Bryla had made the basket for her son, who had been a large, healthy baby. The midwife assured Bryla that her new daughter was healthy, too - she was just very small. Bryla had checked her over thoroughly, and the baby was a perfect little orc from her tiny pointed ears to her little square feet to her flawless nut-brown complexion. Even though Bryla stuffed the baby's basket full of thick clefthoof furs, the little girl all but disappeared, and Bryla feared the girl might smother. She would need something much smaller to sleep in for some time to come.

Bryla moved over to the table where she had begun braiding reeds together to sew into a new basket. As Bryla settled herself at the table, two boys appeared at the door.

"Hello, Mother," the shorter boy said in a loud whisper. "Grom wants to see the baby."

"Okay, Harcos, but be quiet. She's sleeping." Bryla sighed inwardly. Her son and Grommash had been the only two boys born to the Warsong clan four years ago and so had grown up together, but she often wished Harcos had another playmate. Grom did unexpected things that put her on edge every time he was around. "Don't touch the baby. You'll wake her."

The taller boy nodded. "I'll be careful."

The boys crept across to the infant's basket. Grom peered down at the baby, reaching one grubby finger into the basket to touch the baby's nose. Her mouth opened in response, and he grinned. "She's cute."

"Grommash! Don't touch the baby," Bryla repeated.

"I'm not going to hurt her." The boy absently hitched up his pants as he studied the new infant. "She sure is little."

Bryla cringed. Only the ancestors knew how long it had been since Grom washed his hands. But his pants were hanging loose, as usual, which gave her an idea. The boy was too thin and ever hungry. "There's some roast talbuk on the table, if you boys are hungry."

To her relief, both boys left the baby and helped themselves to some of the meat, seared to a crisp crust outside but still juicy inside. Yet the food only distracted Grom for only a moment. Talbuk in hand, he went back to the baby and leaned over her basket.

The infant stirred a bit, then opened her eyes. She looked straight up at Grom. The boy stuck one of his fingers, dripping with good, fresh talbuk blood, into the baby's mouth. The infant closed her lips around his finger and sucked.

Grom grinned. "Hey! She likes it!"

Bryla's jaw tightened. "Grom. I can feed the baby myself. You boys just take care of feeding yourselves."

"I don't mind sharing with her." Grom turned to Harcos. "You know, we're gonna have to look after her. She has no father, so it'll be up to us to take care of her."

"Yep," Harcos said. "We'll look after her real good."

Bryla closed her eyes and said a quick prayer to the ancestors. The enormous gronn that had killed her husband only three months ago had also taken the life of Grom's father. Yet here was Grom, offering to look after the baby. What was she supposed to think of such a child?

Grom rubbed more talbuk blood on his finger for the infant, and her little fists waved excitedly in the air when she tasted it. Suddenly Grom yelped, pulling his finger away. Then he laughed. "She bit me!"

"She can't bite, she doesn't have any teeth yet," Harcos said.

"She tried to, anyway. Didn't you, little baby?"

Bryla set the reeds aside. "Bring her to me, Harcos. She's hungry."

Grom started to reach for the baby but Harcos pushed him away. "You never had a baby sister, you don't know how. I'll get her." Carefully Harcos slid his hands beneath the tiny infant and lifted her smoothly to his chest.

"I can do that," Grom said. "Let me try."

"Maybe later," Bryla said firmly. "She needs to eat now."

Her son brought the infant to her, and Bryla unfastened her shirt. As the baby nuzzled against her mother's breast, Bryla nodded toward the bundles of reeds lying on the floor. "You boys could go out to the river and find some more reeds for me."

Grom, however, would not be drawn that easily from the baby. He patted her soft black hair while she suckled. "What for?"

"Because the baby needs a new basket. Could you get me some more?"

Grom shrugged. "Sure."

"I know where they are," Harcos said.

Grom stopped to pat the baby's head one more time. "Bye, little baby. We'll be back soon."


	3. Chapter 3

3

"I do not understand why you have lost your faith," Grom said. "You were willing enough to go with us to liberate the internment camps. You even asked me to take your oldest children with me so they could see how the Warsong clan fights."

"That was different. You were leading them. Doomhammer was leading us. I can't say I was friends with Orgrim Doomhammer, but I've seen him enough to know he could get things done. He knew how to win. What does this child know of battles?"

"What do I know of battles?" asked a deep voice behind her. "The humans started training me as a gladiator almost as soon as I could walk. And I know you were there when I bested Doomhammer in single combat. Do you think he asked me to be his second in command for no reason?"

Sync turned to see black plate armor - Doomhammer's armor - now adorning the underage boy who called himself warchief. She frowned. Even in the moonlight, it was obvious that the armor did not lay quite right across Thrall's broad shoulders. "We are talking of battles, not single combat. It is different. It was easy to destroy those first internment camps because they did not know we were coming. But now they have figured it out, and they will be waiting for us. You saw what they did tonight. They killed Doomhammer."

"I am aware of that." Thrall stood calm. "But I lived with humans. I fought with them in the ring. I know what they are like."

"It is not the same as leading an army."

"True," Thrall conceded. "But I have been with you as we've freed these internment camps. And I will rely on advice from those who are older and wiser than I, such as Grom Hellscream."

Sync turned her back on him, folding her arms across her chest. "Bah. This child has no place being a warchief. I could tear him apart before he could catch his breath."

Grom rubbed his tattooed jaw, trying to disguise a smile. "I might point out that 'child' is three times your size and less than half your age."

"Bah," she said again. "Size means very little, and my age gives me experience he lacks. You have seen me defeat warriors before."

Grom could no longer hide his smile. "The first time I ever saw this one, she tried to bite me," he told Thrall.

"I have great respect for the fearlessness and strength of the Warsong. I would never willingly challenge one to a fight," Thrall said. "Even one as small as this."

Sync whirled around, snarling. "You bend down here, and I'll slap your face for saying that."

Thrall regarded her evenly. "I will take it back, Sync, if you will tell me why you have such doubts about me being warchief. It is Sync, isn't it?"

"You have lived with us all winter, and still you do not know my name?" she asked incredulously.

"Half the clan calls you Mother. I was not certain you had another name."

She growled. "My name is Shaethe. They call me Unsyncable partly because Grom tried to drown me when I was a child."

"You did that to her?" Thrall sounded surprised.

"That's a story for another day," said Grom. "And no, I didn't."

"You mean you couldn't," Sync corrected. "Don't deny it, it was your idea to cross that river."

"I knew you would make it," Grom said. "I gave you a chance to swim that river, and you did. Now I'm going to give Thrall a chance to swim his own river, and I know he will make it, too."

"But I swam alone," Sync replied. "I did not take anyone with me."


	4. Chapter 4

4

As soon as the little girl named Shaethe could walk, she chased after her brother and Grom. Being with the boys was so much more exciting than staying home with Mother. If she could catch them, they let her do much more interesting things. She vastly preferred hunting and chasing and wrestling to staying home watching Mother tan hides or cook.

Though she had not yet seen three summers, Shaethe learned fast. She watched carefully till her mother was up to her elbows in bread dough, then she slipped out the door.

The boys learned fast, too, and they knew the little girl would pursue them. But Grom had a plan.

Grom always had a plan.

"This way!" he yelled, heading off to the south.

Harcos took off after him. The river was just south of them, filled beyond its banks with spring rains. The only way over was a half-rotted tree trunk. Grom virtually flew across the makeshift bridge. Harcos followed more cautiously. At the far side, they stopped. The little girl was close behind.

Shaethe sprinted to the bridge. "Wait for me!"

Harcos cupped his hands to his mouth. "No! Go home!"

Undaunted, the little girl hoisted her body onto the tree trunk and pulled herself to her feet.

"Shaethe, get down!" Harcos called back. "You'll fall in!"

"No!" She inched forward, arms splayed wide for balance, her bare feet shuffling cautiously for each step.

"I said go home!"

A strange twinkle glimmered in Grom's brown eyes. "Hold, Harcos. Let's see what happens."

"She'll fall in the river, and I'll get in trouble."

But Grom watched the girl with a slight smirk. "Just wait."

The not-quite-three-year-old orc continued forward, nearly losing her balance twice before she dropped to her hands and knees and started crawling. Harcos cursed under his breath. "You big baby! Go back!"

The girl's head jerked up, her golden-brown eyes glowering at him. "I not a baby! I can -." She raised one fist, losing her grip on the tree trunk, and toppled into the water below.

Harcos lunged forward. Grom blocked him.

"Hold," Grom said again. "Watch."

Harcos tried to wrestle his way past Grom. "She can't swim. She'll drown!"

"No." Grom would not release him. "She won't drown."

In an instant Shaethe's head broke water and she yowled. Her tiny hands clawing at the river, her little feet kicking wildly, she fought her way to the far shore and struggled up the bank. She shoved her dripping black hair out of her eyes and coughed up some river water.

Grom threw back his head and let out an ear-splitting shout. "Lok'tar! She made it! I knew it! The little one is unsinkable!"

Finally free of Grom, Harcos snatched his sister's arm. "You're gonna get it this time. You could have drowned!"

"I not drown," she said stoutly. "I a big girl now."

"You are such a baby."

"I not a baby!" Shaethe charged at her brother, fists flying. She pummeled his kneecap but all he did was laugh. Then she sank her teeth into his crotch.

Harcos screamed.

As Harcos collapsed on the ground, Grom caught the girl by the back of her soggy shirt. He hauled her off her feet, dangling her safely at arm's length. Shaethe swung her fists at the empty air.

"I not a baby! You take it back!"

"Calm down there, little unsinkable one," Grom said. "I think you won that fight."

Harcos writhed on the ground, making noises somewhere between a moan and a scream. "I'm - telling - Mother!"

"Don't care," Shaethe yelled. "I not a baby!"

"Harcos, are you alright?" Grom asked.

The boy rolled over so his back was to them, and he unfastened his pants. He shrieked. "Damn it, I'm bleeding!" Harcos retied his pants as he got up. "I'll kill her. Let her down, Grom. This time I'm going to kill her."

Shaethe squealed. "No kill me!"

"Hold it! Hold it!" Grom said, one hand holding Sync, the other restraining Harcos. "Nobody's going to kill anybody. Harcos, you take care of yourself. I'll take Unsinkable home. Maybe Bryla has a lock and some chains."

He smiled at the girl flailing about in his strong grip. "But somehow, I doubt even that would hold her."


	5. Chapter 5

5

"Do you truly expect to just take over, when you have only lived with us for a few months?" Sync asked. "You are still a stranger, and you are a Frostwolf. No Frostwolf has ever been warchief."

"I was not raised a Frostwolf," Thrall pointed out. "I was raised by humans, a fact of which I have been reminded countless times by both your clans."

"Yes, yes, I know the story. The humans found you after your parents were murdered and raised you as a slave, but you managed to escape and reclaim your rightful place as an orc. Now you expect to lead us all to victory. I've heard it too many times already. It's disgusting." Sync turned to the older man. "Surely you cannot accept a Frostwolf as warchief. I've lived with them long enough to know what they are like. Durotan, Garad… they were good men, but they did not have the true passion to be warchief."

Grom shrugged. "The Warsong have lived in hiding for too many years, waiting for a chance to strike at the humans. We have it now. I do not care what clan the warchief is from."

"Have you changed that much? Clans don't matter anymore?"

"The clans are dying out. We've lost so many people. The Warsong, the Frostwolves, Blackrock, Thunderlord, all the others - if they're not already gone, they soon will be. Our numbers are too small to argue about clans." Grom pointed toward a group of ragged children gathered around a fire, mesmerized by one of the Warsong warriors who appeared to be telling them a story. "Some of them don't even know what clan they were born into. All they will know is all the orcs unified as the Horde."

"I thought that was the whole point of breaking them out of the camps. We will tell them who they were, and the clans will exist again. The old ways will return, and everything will be good."

"And how are the clans to come back? You are the only female Warsong still alive, at least that I know about. Unless you wish to breed with my warriors and provide them all with children…"

Sync pursed her lips. "I am a bit old for that."

"Then they will have to find mates elsewhere."

"There may be a few Warsong left in Garadar," Sync spoke without thinking.

Grom closed his eyes. Slowly he exhaled, and his shoulders seemed to droop. "We cannot count them."

Sync felt a pang of regret at the echo of pain in Grom's voice. She wished she had not mentioned Garadar. It was one sore spot she could not mend.

"Garadar?" Thrall asked.

"I misspoke," Sync said quickly. "Garadar is on Draenor. Some years ago, the red pox broke out on Draenor, and the sick ones were sent to Garadar to recuperate."

Grom opened his eyes. "That's enough, Sync. They are not here, and we must take care of ourselves. There is no other way to continue but to find mates outside of our clans. But how can you be so distressed when that is exactly what you did?"

Sync stared at him. Her words came slow and quiet, as if she were having a great deal of trouble controlling her temper. "When I married, I had to leave my family and my clan - and you - because no one would accept a union between a Warsong and a Frostwolf. And now you encourage it?"

"You cannot judge it the same. It was different then. There were plenty of Warsong boys you could have chosen for a mate. Besides, you were only fourteen. Even if you had picked a Warsong, you would not have been allowed to marry that young."

"You did not accept him even when we came back," Sync went on, her anger barely in check. "You still won't call him by his name. But you expect me to accept a Frostwolf as my leader. No, Grom. I cannot do it."

She stormed off, and Grom sighed. "I suppose I had best go after her."

"Why such a fuss over one small female?" Thrall asked.

"Because I have known her since the day she was born. And because she has a husband and six children. If she leaves, we may lose half the Frostwolf clan." Grom looked a bit sheepish. "And because she is right. I have never called her husband by his name."


	6. Chapter 6

6

A cool autumn wind blew across southern Nagrand as two young orcs settled themselves beneath a large shady tree. From the shade, they had a fine view of the orcs congregated in the flat land around Oshu'gun mountain. The female laughed as she pointed toward a group of young girls running full-tilt across the valley.

"I've won that race every year I entered," she said. "I can beat any girl from any clan."

The male smiled appreciatively. "I bet you can. You're a fast runner. How come you're not running this year, Sync?"

She lowered her eyes and smiled shyly. "It's more fun being with you, Gordost."

He closed his big hand over her much smaller one. "I just hope your mother doesn't find us again."

"She'll be busy all afternoon tanning hides. One of the Thunderlord women has a new technique Mother wants to learn."

"She wasn't too hard on you when she caught us yesterday, was she?" Gordost asked anxiously. "She seemed awful mad. I hated when she made me leave."

"Oh, no. She only lectured me about how I was too young for boys and how I had no business messing with a Frostwolf." Sync smiled wryly. "Of course, she didn't like it when I started studying with that Bleeding Hollow rogue, either. But I knew he was the right teacher for me."

"How did you get her to let you train as a rogue?" asked Gordost. "My father despises rogues. He says they're devious and sneaky and you can't trust them."

"My mother's not too fond of rogues, either, but it's what I am. I can't be anything else." Sync shrugged. "That's why everyone calls me Unsyncable, because I don't do what people expect me to. Well, that and because I can swim. But I am a good rogue. Want to see me vanish again? The trainer says I'm getting really good at it."

Gordost grinned. "No. I like you to stay here where I can see you."

She smiled again. "I'm sure Mother will like you, once she gets to know you. She's finally accepted that I'm going to be a rogue."

"I hope she does. And I think I like rogues."

Sync snuggled against Gordost, putting her head on his chest. "I love the Kosh'harg festivals, don't you? It's so much fun to see everyone and - and to meet new people."

Gordost slipped his arm around her. "I'm sure glad I met you."

She looked up with another smile. "Me, too."

Sync sighed happily and closed her eyes. Without intending to, she soon fell asleep. In the peace of the autumn afternoon, Gordost leaned his head back against the broad tree trunk and closed his eyes.

An ear-splitting scream jolted them both awake. Sync clawed the ground as her body was dragged face down away from Gordost. Something heavy sat on top of her. A hand pressed her head down, mashing her face into the dirt. Then she heard her mother's voice.

"What are you doing? I told you to stay away from my daughter!"

Sync tried to yell but dry dirt in her mouth made her gag. She tried to vanish but in desperation she could not concentrate. Then she recognized the sharp sound of a slap. Her mother's voice sounded again.

"Let her up," Bryla ordered, "but don't let go of her."

The weight lifted from Sync's back, and someone took hold of her hair and hoisted her roughly to her feet. She twisted to look at her captor. It was Grom. Sync gasped. Then she noticed Gordost struggling ferociously as Harcos pinioned the boy's arms behind his back.

Bryla's hand lashed out toward Sync. The girl stood stiff, taking the full impact of the blow.

"What do you think you're doing? I told you to stay away from that boy!"

"But Mother, I - I - ."

Bryla turned back to the boy. "I will have to talk with your father."

"You can't," the boy said.

Bryla slapped him again. "Impudent pup! Did no one ever teach you manners?"

"My father is at Oshu'gun with the other shaman," the boy replied, licking a trickle of blood from his lip. "They won't be back for days."

"Then I will talk to your mother. We will put a stop to this. Sync is too young for boys, and she will never be old enough to mess with a Frostwolf."

"We were just sitting here. We weren't doing anything wrong," Sync insisted.

Bryla slapped her again, but this time Sync responded by lashing out with one foot. Her kick caught Bryla's shin, and the older orc grabbed Sync by her shirt front. She drew her daughter upward till Sync's toes barely touched the ground.

"I told you to leave the boy alone. And you disobeyed me. Again! Can't you ever do anything you're supposed to?" With a powerful shove, Bryla released the girl.

Sync sprawled on the ground. She drew her arms under her and pushed up to see Gordost straining against Harcos' iron grip.

"Stop it!" Gordost yelled. "I asked her to go with me. I was the one who disobeyed."

Bryla swung her foot toward Sync, catching her under the chin and sending her sprawling once more. Then Sync heard Grom's voice.

"Stay down."

Sync rolled onto her side and wiped her hand across her chin. She was bleeding. Bryla looked from her daughter to the boy as if deciding what to do next.

"Let's go find his mother," Grom spoke up. "I've got Sync, Harcos can bring the boy."

Bryla sighed and growled at the same time but she nodded her consent. She pointed at Sync, her hand shaking with rage. "I'd rather see you with Grom than with that boy."

Grom snickered as he twined his fingers around Sync's arm. "I thought you didn't like me, Bryla."

"I don't," she said. "You're rude. You're disobedient. You're undisciplined. And you've encouraged both my children to act the same way. But I'd rather Sync be with you than with that boy. Our chieftain will throw her out of the clan if he finds out she's been messing with a Frostwolf. And that is not going to happen to any child of mine."


	7. Chapter 7

7

Grom followed Sync's path away from the orcs. He stopped beside a ragged bush, resting his fists on his hips. "You know that vanishing stuff never worked on me, rogue. I know where you are."

A solid curse came from the empty air, and Sync appeared beside him. "Damn you, Grom. One minute, you support my decisions, and the next, you're dragging me by my feet away from Gordost. I thought you would have been proud of me for standing up for myself but instead you sided with my mother."

"I thought it was for your own good. Bryla was right, the chieftain would have thrown you out of the clan. Do you have any idea what that would have meant?"

"But you were chieftain when we came back. Why did you not let him into the clan then?"

Grom grumbled to himself. "I was young. I hadn't been chieftain long, and I wanted to… I don't know. I believed letting a Frostwolf into the clan would… weaken us, somehow. I realize now it was a mistake. As I've gotten to know Thrall… And your children. They're just as strong as any full-blood Warsong has ever been."

Sync gaped at him in wonder. "A mistake? Why, Grom. I've never heard you use that word before."

"I hope you never have to hear it again." Grom cleared his throat. "I realize I can't make you accept Thrall as warchief. But I thought I raised you not to be afraid to try something new."

"Ha! You raised me?"

"I did. I taught you how to fight, how to swim, how to stand up for yourself. I spent more time raising you than I did my own…" Abruptly he turned away, running his hands through his hair. He shuddered slightly, and his voice came very pale through the night air. "You have always taken your own path, and I know you will do so again. You do what is right for you, and I respect that. So go if you want. Take your husband and your children and all your friends. I don't have enough energy to fight my own people."

As Grom walked away, Sync stamped her foot in the dirt. She did not want a child for a warchief. She did not like seeing them make such a fuss over an untried Frostwolf when they had disregarded her own husband. But she would be damned thrice over before she would disappoint Grom Hellscream.


	8. Chapter 8

8

The once-blue sky smoldered with a sour orange haze while thousands of orcs sat waiting. All were dressed in freshly-polished armor with freshly-sharpened weapons at the ready. Though they remained quiet, an agitated aura hung over them.

Astride her riding wolf among the members of the Frostwolf clan, Sync, like the other orcs, stared up at an immense, elaborate structure known as the Dark Portal. It was a terrifying masterwork of orc-wrought masonry, flanked by two huge carved figures with glowing eyes and crowned by a monstrous serpent. Discomforting green swirls marked the empty air at the center of the portal. If Sync looked up, the orange haze annoyed her. If she looked ahead, the swirling darkness of the portal nauseated her. If she looked anywhere else, all she saw were orcs with their unnatural green skin. Sync could find no place to focus her vision that did not cause her to twitch.

The clans had come together at this portal under orders from Blackhand, the first warchief of the Horde. Blackhand led this new alliance of orcs with help from his chief adviser, Gul'dan, who had introduced the clans to a tremendous power that some said came from demons. This power had allowed them to destroy their greatest enemies, the Draenei, but had brought with it another devastating effect. It had also destroyed the land.

When the portal was complete, Gul'dan sent a scouting party through it to what he said was a new world. The orcs were starving on this failing planet, and Gul'dan promised them a place with food and water, a living land where they would find glory and honor. Sync was not convinced of Gul'dan's promises. The man annoyed her just as much as the irritating orange haze. She could barely sit still, and her wolf fidgeted in response. Catching her husband's eye, Sync motioned toward the one comfort she had left in this dying world: the counsel of the Warsong chieftain. Gordost nodded and followed her as she kneed her riding wolf in the direction of Grom.

The Warsong chieftain managed half a smile at her. The immense power that came from the demons had turned the orcs' hearty brown skin a sickly green. But Grom had gone farther. Like most of the clan chieftains, he had drunk of the demon's blood to gain even greater power and now his eyes blazed a blistering red. Sync had to force herself to swallow her own revulsion when she looked at Grom, yet she knew he was still Grom. Underneath it all, he was still the strong, fearless Warsong she had known all her life. And his wisdom was what

she needed now.

"You must come with us," Sync said.

Grom seemed to squirm. "Gul'dan made it quite clear he wishes the Warsong clan to remain on Draenor."

"Gul'dan is not the warchief. Why do you listen to him? We need you. This new world - we have no idea what it will be like, what opposition we will meet. We need your strength. Without you and the Warsong, the Horde will fail."

Grom's brow drew into heavy lines. "You're letting fear get the better of you."

"What if we go through this portal and never come back?"

Grom walked up to Sync's wolf, scratching the animal's neck. "Were you scared when we took Shattrath City?"

"Terrified."

"And you fought anyway. Even when Harcos was killed, you kept fighting." He inclined his head toward Gordost. "Were you scared when you and this Frostwolf ran off together from Kosh'harg?"

Her face softened as she gazed at her husband. "I was terrified then, too."

One corner of Gordost's mouth turned up. "So was I."

Grom raised an eyebrow. "And were you scared the day you fell in the river, trying to catch up with me and Harcos?"

She responded with an embarrassed laugh. "No. I was too busy trying to catch you."

Several loud yells came from the portal. The scouting party had returned. They brought with them freshly-butchered animals and tales of a land with pure water and plentiful wholesome food, waiting for them. The orcs would have a future after all. All they need do was step through the portal, and it was theirs. The gathered Horde cheered triumphantly. Sync frowned. How could they rejoice when there was so much unknown?

Grom rested his fingers on Sync's leg to get her attention. "Remember you are a Warsong. You are strong and tough and proud."

"They are calling us," Gordost broke in. "Sync?"

She glanced at her husband, then back at Grom. "Please, Grom. Please come with us."

Grom shook his head. "You go, and you show those humans how powerful orcs can be. And find us a new land - a good land - where we can live again."

"Grom - "

The chieftain took a step back and raised his heavy-bladed axe to the miscolored sky. "Lok'tar!" Throwing his head back, he broke the hazy air with his thunderous scream.

A shiver rippled down her spine. Grom may not have looked like the boy she remembered, but the hellscream was always the same. Its raw volume flooded her soul, making her heart beat faster, buttressing her hopes. They could do it. They were Warsong. They were orcs.

"Victory!" she shouted back.

Grom grinned proudly, his eyes luminous. "Ancestors watch over you!"

Then Sync kicked her wolf and the animal loped off after Gordost's larger mount. Sync glanced back once to raise her hand toward Grom. He raised his own hand in response.

"Ancestors watch over you, too," she said softly. Then, riding by Gordost's side, following his clan, Sync swallowed her fears and plunged into whatever fate lay beyond the portal.


	9. Chapter 9

9

She found Thrall involved in the sobering task of collecting the bodies of fallen warriors to place on funeral pyres. After carefully laying one body on the ground, Thrall stopped to brush his waist-length hair out of his face. As he flipped the hair behind his shoulder, a tangle snagged on his spiked shoulder plate. Fitfully he jerked his hair loose. Sync regarded him somewhat petulantly.

"Sit," she commanded.

"What?"

"Can't even wear armor decently. I swear. Sit." Sync pointed at the ground. "The ancestors may not speak to us anymore, but I know they still watch over us, and I know your parents are with them. Your mother would kill me if I let her son go around looking like a half-witted peon. Now sit."

"There is much work to be done," Thrall protested.

She pointed again. "I said sit."

Thrall sat down heavily.

"I helped deliver you when you were born, you know. I cleaned you up then - looks like I'll have to do it again now." Sync took a comb from a small bag tied to her belt. With her agile rogue's fingers, Sync parted Thrall's black hair down the middle and began undoing the mess.

"If I may ask, why did Hellscream dislike you mentioning Garadar?" Thrall asked.

"It was a careless thing for me to say." Sync yanked the comb relentlessly through a snarl. "Grom's son was one of the ones who got ill. He was left behind when Grom and the Warsong finally joined us on Azeroth. Then the portal was destroyed, and we had no way back."

"I see."

"The red pox can be a vicious disease. The boy's mother did not survive it." Sync's lips drew into a thin line. All six of her children were here with her, safe, but Grom was separated, perhaps forever, from his only child. "We do not know if his son still lives or not. Best not to say any more about it."

Perhaps more tightly than necessary, Sync wove Thrall's hair into two braids, binding each with a strip of cloth. She stood back and studied him critically in the moonlight. "That should help, since you do not have a helm."

"I was not allowed armor as a gladiator," Thrall said, gingerly examining the braids, "but I will learn."

She tucked the comb back into her bag. "And just what is it you plan to learn? How fast the humans can kill us? We are on a planet where we don't belong, where we have already killed thousands of humans. What do you think will happen, Thrall? That the humans will just let us free all the imprisoned orcs and walk away?"

"I believe when we destroy Durnholde Keep - the seat of power for these internment camps - the humans will realize our intentions and release the rest of the orcs to avoid more bloodshed. I do not believe the humans want more deaths any more than we do."

"You are dreaming, child. They will not let us go so easily."

"Do you wish to see your brothers and sisters suffer and die in these camps?"

Her golden-brown eyes narrowed, but she had no reply. Instead she took a kerchief from her bag, spit on it, and scrubbed the dirt off of the young warchief's face. She shook her head. "You look like a child who's been playing in the mud."

Thrall rubbed the spit off his face. "If we ignore this wrong that is happening right before our eyes - innocent children locked away, adults enslaved and beaten for sport - while we shut ourselves away in exile, then we are no better than we were on Draenor, when we allied with demons to kill the Draenei," Thrall said.

"I second that idea," a familiar voice spoke.

Sync did not turn her head. "Stay out of this, Grom. The boy must be able to speak for himself or he has no right to call himself warchief."

Grom came up behind Sync, draping his long arms around her shoulders and leaning down to rest his chin atop her head. "Is she causing trouble again?" he asked Thrall.

"If you were warchief, at least we'd go kill all the humans and be done with it," Sync said dourly. "I have watched this child since he joined us last winter. He sympathizes with humans. He seems to think they will just let us walk away and forget the past and everyone will live in peace."

"Then what is it you want?" Thrall asked. "To hide by ourselves in exile and hope the humans leave us alone?"

Sync grunted. "On Draenor, the ancestors guided us in what to do. They showed us what was right. I knew through them that being a rogue - even though some think rogues are worthless - was right. Marrying my husband - even though he was a Frostwolf - was right. Going through the portal… by then, the ancestors no longer spoke to us. It felt wrong. But without the ancestors to guide us, we didn't know. And how can we know what to do now? Without the ancestors, we don't know what's right anymore."

Thrall stood up. "Without their guidance, we must follow what we know in our hearts is right. In my heart I know it is wrong to stand by and watch children being beaten."

"Do you realize your parents would have beaten you to make sure you behaved?" she asked sharply.

Thrall's eyes lit up with a sudden understanding. "And it would have been from love, not from hatred. The same reason you just braided my hair."

She grunted again. "You've got a smart mouth for one so young."

"As warchief, I have decided we will destroy Durnholde Keep and put an end to these camps with as little bloodshed as possible. Are you with us, or not?"

Sync felt a sudden urge to hit Thrall, but every inch of his body within her reach was covered by Doomhammer's black plate armor. Instead she grabbed one of his braids and pulled as hard as she could. Thrall barely kept himself upright.

At that moment, a male in ragged armor came up to Thrall and saluted. "My lord. Drek'Thar is asking for you. The funeral pyres are almost ready."

Thrall nodded. "Tell him I am on my way."

The orc saluted again and left. Thrall looked at Grom. He opened his mouth as if to speak but then closed it again.

Grom raised his chin off of Sync's head. "We lost a lot of good warriors, along with Doomhammer. Now we must bid them farewell. Not a pleasant task, is it? But I will be there with you."

"Thank you," Thrall said softly.

"You coming, too, Sync?"

"Of course I am. I would not turn my back on our fine, brave warriors."

As they started forward, a small boy limped up to them. Like all the children rescued from the internment camps, he was filthy, haggard, and threadbare. A stained bandage bound one bare foot. "Have you seen my father?"

Grom paused, stooping to the boy's level. "What does he look like?"

"He's wearing a red shirt," the boy said. "He's got a big bandage on his arm."

"I will help you find him." Straightening up, Grom took the boy's hand. He glanced at Thrall. "You go on, I will catch up in a minute."

As Grom walked away with the boy, Thrall turned to the rogue beside him. "I should thank you for providing enough food for everyone. I heard you supervised the young ones in cooking while we freed the camp."

"We have plenty of warriors now. We no longer need the young ones to fight." She shook her head. "But you will not deter me, warchief. I will come with you, as will my husband and my children if they so choose. But remember. Every story you ever heard about Grom Hellscream is true. He is strong and wild and fearless. There is no one braver. I do not know why he holds such faith in you, but he does. And I promise you this. If you disappoint Grom, I will tear you limb from limb."

"If I disappoint him, I will tear myself limb from limb," the young warchief assured her. But even in the darkness, his blue eyes showed a trace of doubt.

"Good," she said. "Then at least we agree on one thing."

"Maybe one thing is enough." Thrall extended one gauntleted hand toward her but stopped short of touching her.

After a moment Sync gave a quick nod and let Thrall's hand rest on her shoulder. "If it's strong enough, it is."

end


End file.
